All the Pretty Brides Read online

  Homicide detective Jake Carrington has an engagement that can’t wait—with a killer.

  Haunted by the murder of his sister, Lieutenant Jake Carrington struggles to control his personal demons as he stands over the brutalized body of a young woman found dead on the railroad tracks. The victim disappeared on July 6th, the fifth woman in as many years to go missing on that date. The fifth happy bride-to-be. The only one whose body has turned up.

  Soon the killer is sending personal messages to Jake. They refer to an unidentified brother he believes Jake hates as much as he does. With his partner distracted by turmoil at home, Jake is on his own. Drawn deeper and deeper into a murderous family feud, his mission is to find out who the killer’s brother is—and stop him before another innocent woman’s life is cut tragically short.

  Visit us at www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Books by Marian Lanouette

  Jake Carrington Thrillers

  All the Deadly Lies

  All the Hidden Sins

  All the Pretty Brides

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  All the Pretty Brides

  A Jake Carrington Thriller

  Marian Lanouette

  LYRICAL PRESS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Copyright

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  LYRICAL UNDERGROUND BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2018 by Marian Lanouette

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Quotation from Diplomatic Immunity by Lois McMaster Bujold reprinted by permission of author, © 2002

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  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

  Lyrical Underground and Lyrical Underground logo Reg. US Pat. & TM Off.

  First Electronic Edition: December 2018

  eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0479-6

  eISBN-10: 1-5161-0479-X

  First Print Edition: December 2018

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0480-2

  ISBN-10: 1-51-610480-3

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Books by Marian Lanouette

  All the Pretty Brides

  Copyright

  Contents

  Dedication

  Praise for Marian Lanouette’s Jake Carrington Thrillers

  Quotes

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  All the Dirty Secrets

  ALL THE DIRTY SECRETS

  Chapter 1

  All the Deadly Lies

  All the Hidden Sins

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Dedication

  To my wonderful brothers, Jimmy, Albert, Michael, and in loving memory of Eddie and Timmy; you’ve always been there for me with your encouragement, advice, and love.

  Praise for Marian Lanouette’s Jake Carrington Thrillers

  ALL THE PRETTY BRIDES

  “Tense and authentic—a suspenseful page-turner!”

  —Leo J. Maloney, bestselling author of the Dan Morgan Thriller Series

  ALL THE DEADLY LIES

  “All the Deadly Lies is a rawly rendered thriller that toes the line between feisty and fierce without ever losing its underlying sense of fun.”

  —Criminal Element

  Quotes

  “The dead cannot cry out for justice.

  It is a duty of the living to do so for them.”

  —Lord Miles Vorkosigan,

  Diplomatic Immunity,

  Lois McMaster Bujold

  Before the Altar, bowed, he stands

  With empty hands;

  Upon it perfumed offerings burn

  Wreathing with smoke the sacrificial urn.

  —Before the Altar,

  Amy Lowell

  Prologue

  August 24

  Another disappointment—why does she continue to deny me? Not once has she kept her promise. I’ve kept mine. She continues to refuse my terms. How many times must I make the wedding preparations before there is a wedding? This one’s like the rest of them. She cries all day and all night long. What more could she possibly want? We have each other.

  She lies. Tells me she’s not my Ciara. I can see in her eyes that she’s planning to run away again. Not this time, bitch. You made me a promise. A promise you will keep one way or another. You will not humiliate me again. We’re mated for life. That’s what marriage means. If I can’t have you, no one else will.

  She must die. It’s that simple. Though I’ve explained all this to her time and time again, she doesn’t listen. Not one of them has kept their promise. Don’t they understand when you commit, there’s no turning back? Our wedding day has come and gone—five long years alone. I thought she’d be back by now. Each time I find her, it turns out to be a cheap copy. No marriage, no children. I’ll give her one last chance. But deep down in my heart I understand it’s a useless gesture. She’s not Ciara—Ciara would never cry. My Ciara’s independent, wild, strong, and beautiful.

  I will not…cannot live without her. I must end this charade with the imposter downstairs and find Ciara.

  Exhausted, he pushed himself from the chair and went down the stairs. On the bottom step, he stopped, stood, listened, and shut down his emotions. He studied her as he moved closer. For the first time in weeks the differences glared out at him. A weak copy of Ciara—how did I miss it? Oh, how she made a fool of me. Not anymore—she’ll join the others.

  Calmer, he walked over to her, unhooked the chains that bound her wrists and legs. With no fight left in her, she was easy for him to handle. He dragged her up off the basement floor, spun her around, and spooned her to his body. He caressed the side of her face with his knife before pressing the sharp blade to her throat and drawing a fine line until a trickle of blood appeared. He licked the wound as he brought his head up to rest on hers. Ciara’s fragrance wafted to him. Though her hair had been washed in Ciara’s shampoo, her neck drenched in Ciara’s perfume, this imposter was not his beloved Ciara.

  I’ve searched for you, Ciara darling, for five long years. How did you disappear off the face of the earth? Where are you? You bitch! You humiliated me in front of our families and friends when you left me stranded at the altar on our wedding day. I waited hours for you to show up, to explain, but you never came. What an idiot I’d been…worrying something bad had happened to you. God, how I wished it had. Not one word from you, no explanation, no apology. Not a whisper or trace of you in all these years.

  Your parents moved away—left me no forwarding address—but I got it anyway. I’ve traced them through the Internet. It seems you don’t live with them. My tracers on your social security number, your credit cards haven’t turned up one clue. I thought I had you once. You screwed up when your mother’s credit card was used in both her state and a different state on the same day. I jumped on a plane, searched the area where the purchases were made, but never sighted you. Did I just miss you? You’re not working, or if you are, you’re using a different social security number and name. I’ll find you though, you wait and see.

  “What is your real name?” he demanded of the limp woman in his arms.

  * * * *

  “It’s…it’s Nadia. I keep telling you. My name is Nadia,” she said hoarsely. Broken, she almost couldn’t remember her own name. She hated the woman named Ciara, a woman she had never even met.

  “It’s not Ciara?”

  “No.” Nadia knew this was the end.

  She sent her prayers, her good-byes and love to Donny, her parents, and her sister.

  “Say good-bye, Nadia
.” He ran the knife across her throat, left to right.

  After weeks of torture, she barely felt the final insult.

  Chapter 1

  September 1

  “What an excellent way to be awakened. But next time, put Brigh’s bed in the living room.” Mia pushed away from Jake as his cell phone started to ring.

  He rolled to his side and picked up the intruding phone. The caller ID had him swearing under his breath as he answered it. There went his day off. He picked up the pen and notebook he kept on his nightstand and started writing as he listened to dispatch.

  “Thanks. Notify Sergeant Romanelli and have him meet me at the scene.” Jake disconnected, turning to Mia. It was strange to have her back in his bed. Life…wasn’t it bizarre?

  “Who’s dead?”

  “Dispatch didn’t say. Sorry, I had hoped to spend the day with you.” He got out of bed, pulled a pair of jeans from the bottom drawer, his socks and underwear from the top one.

  “I understand. Call me later.”

  “Will do. Go back to sleep.”

  He took his shoulder and ankle holsters off his dresser, placed them on top of his clothes on the chair, then opened his closet safe for his guns.

  Mia was sitting up in bed staring at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You’ve got a lot of hardware there—doesn’t it bother you to carry it?”

  “It would bother me more if I was in a situation and didn’t have my weapons with me. Don’t worry.”

  “It comes with the territory. Will I see you tonight?”

  “I hope so. Give me a call when you’re through.” He bent down, glided his lips over hers and lingered—something positive he’d take with him to the scene.

  Ten minutes later, showered and dressed, he brewed a quick cup of coffee, toasted a bagel, and headed to his car.

  * * * *

  As he pulled into the parking lot at the Metro station, he couldn’t help but notice the crowd. There had to be ten cruisers with their lights flashing. Nothing like advertising in the lot shared with the newspaper, he thought. Whatever happened to common sense? I bet the reporters got better pictures than we did.

  He emptied his coffee cup and wiped his mouth before climbing out of the car and stepping into the thick, humid air. Exactly how many bodies were there that it required such a large police presence, he wondered. The crowd consisted of not only the patrol car officers; there were a few who patrolled on foot as well as CSIs, uniformed Metro employees, and strangers he assumed were commuters who got more than a ride to work today. The crime scene tape had been placed around the area to control the lookie-loos. He recognized a couple of the uniforms as he ducked under it. Scanning the bystanders, he searched for anyone who stood out. It was never easy, but one could hope. Some killers got a kick out of watching the police process the scene.

  Dispatch had reported two kids cutting school had planned to walk along the tracks to a favorite party spot that was not accessible by car. It was difficult for the cops to patrol there. Instead of enjoying the late summer day, the kids had found a body. They might think twice about cutting class the next time, he thought.

  “This way, Lieutenant,” Officer Martin Gregory said as he approached Jake.

  “How contaminated is my scene, Marty?”

  Jake followed him down the slight incline to the tracks while he surveyed the area. Not an easy dump site, he noted. Someone had lots of muscle if he had carried a body this far. Jake pulled out his notebook and wrote down his first impressions before listing the standard questions. What would it take to carry a body this far? How strong would a man have to be to walk two hundred or so yards to discard it? Did he drag it? How much did the body weigh? It would have had to be done early, before people headed into work. But he couldn’t be positive he wouldn’t be seen. Where had he parked? Where had he entered the area?

  “You got kids running around, the homeless, plus all the druggies,” Marty said.

  “Grab a couple of uniforms and walk the perimeter. See if there are drag marks or tire tracks in case he drove it.”

  Jake swept his gaze over the downhill area in front of him still not able to spot the crime scene. “And see if you find any bags down there large enough to transport a body.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did Sergeant Romanelli get here yet?”

  “He’s already with the victim, sir. My partner’s with him.”

  Knowing Louie was in control, Jake’s apprehension evened out.

  “Lieutenant, is she the missing girl from July sixth?” someone shouted.

  Anger burned a hole in his stomach as he turned to face the speaker. Reporters in general annoyed him. They were cretins, in his opinion. They only cared about their next headline, not the victims or their survivors. Matthew Hayes was the worst of the bunch.

  “Stay off my crime scenes. This is your last warning.” Hayes was on the scene too early—again. Someone had tipped the bastard off. Jake turned to Marty. “Escort this person behind the lines with the rest of the gawkers. If he asks you any questions, even one, arrest him.” Turning, he headed toward the victim.

  “Lieutenant, a little cooperation might help you solve the Bride Murders,” Hayes shouted.

  Jake knew better than to engage him, but he’d had enough of Hayes. He turned back to the reporter. The Bride Murders, as labeled by the sensationalist press. If I find out who’s letting Hayes onto my scenes, there’ll be hell to pay. The victims deserve everyone’s respect. They aren’t headlines. Someone stole their lives, their futures. If he let it, anger would dig deep under his skin and push his sister, Eva, into his head. She didn’t belong in the here and now.

  “The other women are still listed as missing, not murdered.” He continued on to the body.

  * * * *

  “What have you got?” Jake asked his partner.

  “And good morning to you too, sunshine,” Louie said and continued when Jake didn’t react. “A Caucasian woman in her early twenties with dark brown hair, brown eyes, weight approximately one-twenty. She fits the description of the most recent missing woman.” Louie wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “Same date?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t confirm Hayes’s suspicions. It’ll only give him more ammunition to tag the victim. And I don’t want these crimes referred to as the Bride Murders by any officer.”

  “You’re a little touchy this morning,” Louie said for Jake’s ears only.

  “Hayes is on our scenes before we are. We need to find out who’s feeding him.”

  Louie bent down to pick something up with gloved hands, placed it in an evidence bag, and labeled it.

  Jake searched the faces of the cops around him—some young, some more experienced—as he pulled on his own gloves. He had put on his booties in the car. It was as good a time as any to address the issue. “You all heard what I said to the reporter. I want every victim treated with respect. It starts by referring to her by name. Not a nickname given by the press. Understood?” He didn’t move until he got a nod of understanding from each of them.

  “Let’s get to work.”

  Sympathy, pain, and memories flooded him as he crouched down to examine the woman’s face. It never failed to amaze him, what human beings did to one another. Animals fought and killed to survive. Humans fought and killed for many reasons—sport, food, trophies. What kind of satisfaction did the killer get from torturing a beautiful young woman? What switched on in a person’s mind to cause this kind of brutality? After twelve years of being a cop, he understood self-defense, even instant rage. But murder, and especially this kind of killing, he never would. To abduct, hold, and torture a person took planning and organization. It said something about the killer.

  “You ran her fingerprints through the car computer and there’s no mistake?” he asked Sergeant Louie Romanelli, his partner for the last ten years, who also happened to be his best friend from childhood.

  “Yep, it’s Nadia Carren. According to the missing persons file she was age twenty-two at the time of her disappearance. She worked over at Feinberg & Feinberg as a paralegal. The date’s the same as the other missing women. Want to speculate?” Louie asked.